


Serenade

by ded_i_am_just_ded



Series: Love Songs [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Background Viktuuri - Freeform, Established Relationship, Falling Apart, I will try to fix you, M/M, Retirement, Romance, Sequel, additional tags to be added later, read the first part or this won't make sense, your guess is as good as mine where this is going right now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-03-09 13:02:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13482027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ded_i_am_just_ded/pseuds/ded_i_am_just_ded
Summary: Sequel to LullabyYuri has always been able to find answers before.  Life is changing quickly, and Yuri is watching his boyfriend struggle to come to terms with everything.  How do you fix someone who doesn't know they're broken?  How do you save your relationship when you need to save yourself first?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't leave Lullaby well-enough alone. And when I presented the idea on [Tumblr](https://ded-i-am-just-ded.tumblr.com/), the overwhelming response was Lullaby needed a sequel. So, here we are. Not gonna lie, I'm not 100% sure where I'm going with this, so y'all are coming along for the ride.
> 
> This fic will _not_ make sense if you haven't read Lullaby.

  


**PROLOGUE**

  


The countdown is locked in his head like a timebomb, days on the calendar ticking away steadily. Every time Yuri crosses a date off the calendar on the wall, he feels his stomach roll. It’s a day he doesn’t want to come but knows it’s inevitable.

April 9th is the end of the skating season. He’s walking away with Silver and Golds, overall not a bad season to lay to rest. It’s the beginning of 8 weeks of the off-ice season, the period that isn’t really a vacation because he’s stuck pleasing sponsors and bowing to Lilia’s demands. This year, he’s scheduled to travel more than any other off-ice season before. He’s counting his blessings, though, that Lilia gave him his first two weeks to use as he pleases. He has a flight leaving for Moscow on the 10th, then on the 17th he’ll leave from there to Almaty. Part of him nags at him that he should have done it the other way, but he thinks maybe Otabek will need that week to himself.

April 9th is also the day Otabek Altin holds a press conference at the ISU headquarters in Switzerland. Yuri wishes he could be there, instead settles for taking over Viktor’s massive TV and couch and tuning into it with a quick _‘Davai’_ kicked off to Otabek’s phone 30 minutes before start. He doesn’t get a reply and he doesn’t really expect one.

When it starts, Otabek stands behind his coach while his coach begins to speak about the pride he has for his skater, then rambles onto a tangent about Kazakhstan being proud as well, then begins to break down the story of Otabek’s motorcycle accident. Yuri tunes him out and watches Otabek shift his weight, watches the ways his face changes. His leg must be hurting, he’s not using his cane and Yuri can see flashes of pain that Otabek quickly covers.

Yuri knows what’s coming, but still slides to the end of his seat, just as Katsuki drops down onto the couch next to him. He reaches for the remote and cranks the volume up, even though there hasn’t been any change of noise level in the house.

Otabek shifts the position of the microphone and leans on the podium, another sure sign he’s in pain. He takes a moment for people to settle down, then nods at someone off camera before he begins in his accented English, “Thank you all for coming. I’d like to keep my statement short, and I will not be answering any questions at this time.” He lets go of the podium with one hand and turns a little, to gesture towards his coach, “As you’ve heard, last year I was hit by a drunk driver. It wrecked my motorcycle and put me in a coma.” He looks down, then back up again, “I’ve been in therapy for months now and after many long talks with many professionals and the steadfast support of the ISU I’ve had to come to a tough decision. Effective today, April 9th, 2021, I am withdrawing from the figure skating circuit. Permanently.”

The crowd, which has been silent up until now, explodes. Yuri’s phone lights up and begins to ding with notifications of being tagged by multiple social sites. He unlocks it just to put it on silent, then tucks it away again. Otabek is holding up a hand, asking for silence.

“I would like to thank everyone for their support through the years; my fans who have been there since the beginning and those that appeared along the way. My coach for his determination and guidance and I know I never would have made it this far without you.” He glances at said man, who nods a silent thank-you, “My fellow competitors, thank you for the challenges, the friendship, the competition. My family, who’ve been with me through every fall, every victory and who have made so many sacrifices to allow me to do what I’ve done. Lastly,” He looks right at the camera Yuri is watching, and he sees just the hint of a smile on Otabek’s lips, “I’d like to thank my best friend and closest companion, it’s been five years and we’re still not sick of each other. He’s been with me through the toughest parts of all of this, fellow skater Yuri Plisetsky.”

His dark eyes roam back over the crowd and Yuri buries his face in his hands. He feels Katsudon pat his shoulder as Otabek moves into a closing statement, and thanks the press for their time. He steps back from the podium and retreats as a member of the ISU steps to the microphone to take over and begins answering questions as best they can. Yuri reaches out blindly and finds the remote, letting the image on the screen die.

“I can’t believe he called me out like that.” He mumbles and pushes his hair away from his face.

Katsudon grins, squeezes his shoulder, then stands up, “It must have been a tough decision, but I’m glad he was able to be there to make it.”

“Yeah,” Yuri pulls his phone out again, swiping away the long list of notifications on the lock screen only to have them replaced by more. He kills the screen once more and stands as well, thinks of Otabek laying in a hospital bed, of the sound of his voice late at night and early in the morning. He thinks of long walks and stolen kisses, as he tucks the phone away.

They’ve survived worse, this isn’t the end of the world. He told himself at the NHK that he was beginning a new story.

Maybe now, they can write a story together.

"Yeah." He murmurs and smiles to himself.

  
  



	2. ONE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Moscow is most beautiful in April..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added a closing sentence to the prologue that was bugging me that it wasn't there. I would just like to reiterate...I have no idea where I'm going with this. Well, I have a vague idea, but we're flying wherever the dartboard takes us.
> 
> Special thanks to titaniumplatedspine for being my sounding board and beta on this.

__

_**ONE**_

Moscow is most beautiful in April, the weather is mild and the skies are clear. When he arrives, Yuri’s first stop is his hotel, he checks in, drops his bags off, then heads out immediately. He stops at a street market and buys a bouquet of zinnias, and while waiting for the owner to wrap them up, he checks his phone.

Otabek hasn’t replied to any of his messages today, and the night before he hadn’t wanted to call, pleading exhaustion. Yuri knows Otabek is probably on a plane home, but the silence still bothers him. He’s frowning when the florist calls his attention back and he takes the flowers with a stiff smile.

He gives the cab driver his next destination, then sits back in the torn fabric seat and watches familiar streets go by. He hasn’t been to Moscow since the funeral, and it kind of hurts his chest to think of why he’s here. He wishes he hadn’t come alone, but besides Otabek, he’s not sure who he’d want to be with him right now.

The cab stops outside the gates of the cemetery, Yuri pays quietly, then escapes into the afternoon. He knows the way by heart, even if it’s been so long, and he stares at his feet as he makes the trek towards the back of the plot. There’s a few cars parked at the side of the small road occasionally, but everything is silent the entire journey.

He steps into the grass, eventually, and follows a barely worn path down to his _dedushka_. The site is marked by a simple plaque of light grey, carving out his grandfather’s name and years. He pauses at the foot of the slightly mounded dirt and just stares into the grass, like it would part ways and bring his family back to him.

Eventually, he moves around the sacred ground to set the bouquet in the hollow hole behind the headstone, and sinks to his knees. The grass is still mostly brown from the winter, so it crunches underneath him as he shifts to trace out _Nikolai_ with his index finger. The feeling that settles in him is a strange mix of loneliness and completion, “Hey, _deda_ , I’m sorry it took so long for me to come back.”

A soft breeze rustles the trees nearby, but the only other sound Yuri hears is his own memories, haunting him. He can picture his grandfather smiling at him, can hear his voice telling him, _“It’s alright. You’ve been working hard.”_

He has, and he hopes his _dedushka_ has been watching. He sits back, puts his hands on his thighs and starts talking, “A lot has happened since I was last here, you know. I won the Grand Prix again, and silver for Worlds. I hope you saw it all.” He smiles, “It was for you, you know. Most of it, anyway. I know you never really understood skating, but I hope you saw it and you got it this time. You know I’m not one for words. It’s much easier to just...lay it out on the ice.” He tucks his hair behind his ear, “Do you remember Otabek? What am I saying, of course you do. We’re, uh,” He hesitates because he’s never said it out loud before, “We’re dating. Don’t worry, not a lot has changed. He’s in Almaty and I’m still here.” He thinks of smiles over video messages, shirtless photos over SnapChat, “I wish you’d gotten to know him like I do. He’s smart, and has the weirdest sense of humor.” Yuri twists his fingers together and stares down at them, “We went through a lot to get where we are. He had to give up ice skating professionally yesterday.” The sadness in him grows a little and his vision blurs, “He says it won’t change anything, but I can’t help but think it will. I don’t know how we’ll work out with the distance. How do we see each other when I’m always traveling and he goes and gets some job I know nothing about?”

He sighs and leans back, looks up at the tree cover then closes his eyes. No answers come, and he doesn’t know what his grandfather would say, but he waits anyway. The silence is interrupted by the sound of a lot of vehicles, and he turns his head to watch a procession drive slowly up the path. He remains silent as the cars move by, and only turn back to the stone when they’ve all moved past, “I miss you. Every day. Tomorrow, I’m going to the house, I hope it’s not too dusty, I haven’t been there since…” he trails off, wipes his eye, “since I had to take you to the hospital. Please, give me the strength I need to survive this week.” He reaches out and touches the cold stone again, runs his fingers over _Nikolai_ again, “Maybe send me some help? Anything would do.” 

He’s silent again, for a long time. He should get up and go, but just knowing he’s so close to his grandfather, he can’t bring himself to stand. Instead, he lays down beside it all, tucking an arm under his head and just stares at the sharp edge of the headstone. He reaches out his free hand and presses against the corner. The pain reminds him he’s still alive. He closes his eyes and just breathes.

He imagines his grandfather’s voice, his hand in his hair. He curls in on himself and lets himself cry.

༺༻

Otabek doesn’t answer his call, so he shoots off another text to him as he pushes himself into his hotel room. The silence is making him nervous, they don’t normally go this long without replying to each other. Yuri toes off his shoes and kicks them into the closet space, turning on all of the light switches within reach. The room is still pretty dim, so he crosses it and throws open the curtains. The sun is setting and his view is just the parking lot and a busy road beyond it, so he doesn’t give it more than a glance before he turns back into the room.

He stares at his string of messages to Beka, scrolls up a little to the last one he’d received.

_Good night, Yura._

Three words that he clings to. It’s silly that he’s so bothered. Beka has been busy, he’s done a lot in the last few days. Yuri should just let him have today, but he can’t. Something gnaws at the back of his mind, a feeling he just can’t shake.

So he pulls up another message string, ❤ _Alina❤_ across the top of it, and asks her if she’s seen her brother. He doesn’t go into detail, doesn’t ask if he’s okay or why he’s not answering. He stares at the words, but nothing comes, so he sets his phone down on the bed and goes to take a shower.

༺༻

Alina answers at some point, he turns off all of the lights and throws himself into bed before he unlocks his phone to read it.

_Yeah, he’s fine. His leg is bothering him, he had me take him to his apartment when he landed. Do I need to go over and kick his ass?_

Yuri smiles and adjusts his pillow before he replies, _No, leave him be. He’s got to be exhausted. If he doesn’t answer me tomorrow, I’ll send you after him. :)_

_Alright, sleep well, Yura._ Her reply is almost instant, and he smiles at it before turning off the phone and rolling over to plug it in.

The light from outside is enough to cast shadows in the room, but it’s nothing bothersome. He knows he should go close the curtains or the morning sun will wake him before a decent time. But he knows he’s got a lot to do, and it’d be better to just get it all over with. He has calls to make and people to please. He has an entire house of memories to go through and he dreads everything in that thought. He knows that will be the hardest, that he can’t keep most of it and he’ll have to carry those memories with him forever. He’ll have to remember how little space he has at home in St Petersburg, in Lilia’s house or if he ever returns to the dorms.

He sighs and pulls the thin comforter up, closes his eyes and finishes his first day in Moscow truly alone.

༺༻

Just like he knew it would, the sun coming through the window is what wakes him. He glares at it and pulls the blankets up over his head. In the confined space, he eventually realizes he can’t hide forever, and the sooner he gets started, maybe the sooner he can let it all go. The thought that _maybe_ Otabek has answered is what gets him to sit up and fumble for his phone.

There is a message, but it’s not Otabek. It’s Medina, and when he opens the message up, he frowns.

_Have you talked to your boy? I can’t reach him._

He types out a response, then sits back and chews on his fingernail, pulling his knees up and resting the phone in the blankets on them. He sees the dots of Medina typing, then her response,

_I’ll go over to his place and see what’s up. Diaz says he hasn’t heard from him either._

Yuri sends her a thank you, then switches to his Otabek chat.

_You better be dead or dying, I swear to god. Why aren’t you answering anyone?_

The message goes unread, just like his other ones.

༺༻

He doesn’t have an appetite, but makes himself choke down the hotel’s free breakfast of a dry muffin and an apple. He stares at his phone, waiting for it to light up with an incoming message, but nothing happens.

There are too many things to think about, so he decides to let Medina handle whatever is wrong with his boyfriend and focuses on his current project. He dresses in an old tee-shirt and takes a cab to his _dedushka_ ’s--his house. It looks just how he left it, windows dark with blinds and curtains blocking out the outside, the grey siding and dark roof make it look intimidating. He stands in the driveway as the cab drives off and wonders how he’s going to get through this.

The silence is suffocating when he unlocks the door and steps into the dark entryway. Nothing happens when he flips the light switch, and he remembers he’s had the utilities turned off for a long time, so he turns on the flashlight on his phone and fumbles through the dark hall to the front living room to throw open the curtains. He coughs at the dust, wipes his hand on his shirt, then turns around. Nothing has been touched since he locked the door behind him last. There’s a thin layer of dust he can see on the coffee table and the fireplace mantle, and the air is oppressing and thick, so he turns back to the window and cranks it open, letting the morning air in, then stumbles across the small room to the attached dining space, stepping around the finely carved table to get to the kitchen behind it. He hesitates in the doorway, looks around the small room, then forges forward to open the small window over the sink and the back door, which he props open with a brick from a small pile just outside. 

It creates a breeze through the house, and he thinks even just that is an improvement. He turns his phone over and over in his hand, listening to the silence, then sets it on the counter as he passes by and heads back to the living room and the entryway. He takes the stairs two at a time, everything creaking like he remembers it would, acknowledges the dust on the handrails but doesn’t touch.

At the top is a small hallway with a room at the end and two doors on the right. _Dedushka_ ’s, the bathroom, and his room. All the doors are open, but it’s dark up here, too, so he can’t see the ghosts spill out at him. He steps carefully down the hall, pauses as his old room, fingers trailing over the door frame, before he steps inside. It smells like stale flowers and dust, he wrinkles his nose, remembering his old habits and wondering why the room smells so strange. He pushes open the curtains and pulls up the blinds to open the window and is confronted by an old drawing. He’d forgotten it was even there. It’s supposed to be a tiger, he supposes, but it’s hard to tell. He remembers thinking it had been a work of art.

He smiles at it, then takes it down, sets it on top of the bare mattress, then opens the window to let the air in. The room is still dark, from his moody teenage need to have the walls painted dark green. There’s posters on the wall, Viktor, Katsudon, and a few of his other former legendary skating heroes. Yuri looks at them all and decides they’ll be part of the first things he throws out. There’s a dresser and a closet full of clothes he’ll have to donate, but other than that, the room is over-all bare. He thanks his teenage self for that, he’d rather not have to go through boxes of childhood memories.

He lingers in the room, avoiding where he needs to go, until he’s run out of excuses to himself. He skips the bathroom and moves to the last room. It smells like his grandfather’s pipe, above all else, with a hint of his after-shave. There’s the giant bed he’d slept in after nightmares when he was younger, and photos of himself lining the dressers. His first Grand Prix gold is in a shadowbox on the wall, next to a cross and surrounded by more family photos.

Yuri moves over to look over it and a few of the photos, smiling despite himself. He knows this week is going to be hard, there’s going to be a lot of memories he’ll be stirring up. He sinks onto the bed, still covered with a comforter and his grandmother’s hand-made quilt folded at the bottom. He’ll take that home with him and keep it safe. It’s soft under his touch, needs to be cleaned from the dust, but otherwise still perfectly preserved. He sighs, and leans forward to press his face into it.

He wishes he wasn’t alone, but at the same time, maybe he needs this. He’s pretty sure he’s already said good-bye with his ‘Lamentation’, but there’s still pieces of him that can’t let go. 

He hears his phone vibrate downstairs, loud in the silence. He hopes it’s Otabek, or news about him, but he can’t move. He’s having this moment to himself, in this small space, in this small house, in a city he used to call home.

After a period, he finally moves. He ignores the nagging part of him telling him to go check his phone, and goes into the bathroom instead. He’ll need to set up a garbage pick-up at some point, and he knows there’s only limited cleaning supplies left in the house, so he’ll have to get those, too.

From inside the small closet in the bathroom, he pulls out a duster and sighs. He can start with surfaces. He’ll dig into the bones when he can breathe again.

༺༻

There’s limited surfaces upstairs, so he moves along downstairs, working his way through the small house., pushing the dust to the floor to be cleaned later. He leaves footprints in it behind him, twists and turns that paint a short story of what he’s doing.

His phone sounds in the kitchen again, loud across the countertop. He’s done enough to warrant a break, so he sets down his duster and heads to retrieve the distraction.

Medina and Alina have both messaged him. Medina’s first, Alina last.

Medina’s sounds frantic;

_He’s not at his apartment. His motorcycle is missing. Yuri!!! What is going on???_

Alina’s is unsettling;

_I had to get анам involved. He wasn’t answering any of us, so I had her call him. She finally found him. I don’t know what he’s doing, but he’s in Taraz. That’s like 5 hours from here. He must have left last night or early this morning. He didn’t tell анам much, just that he was okay. She told him to contact you. I’ve never seen him do this. This isn’t like him._

Otabek has fled Almaty. He has to sit down in the dining room and process the thought. It’s so out of character for him, Yuri finds himself scared. He tries to call Otabek’s cell phone, first through Skype, then long-distance. The first goes unanswered, the second goes to voicemail immediately.

His hands are shaking when he lowers the phone into his lap. He doesn’t know what to do, he’s helpless and useless in Moscow. This throws his plans into chaos again. Does he need to change his flight? Go to Almaty early? Not go at all? His phone gives him nothing, the screen goes black from inactivity and leaves him with his reflection on its surface.

Otabek's mom had told him to contact Yuri, but he hadn't. He'd shut his phone off. Maybe he doesn't want anything to do with Yuri right now. Maybe this is it, the breakdown and the end Yuri's been dreading is coming faster than he'd imagined it would.

He sets his phone on the coffee table and stands up. From a kitchen cupboard he retrieves a set of keys and heads for the front door. There's a door on the wall next to it that opens to the single car garage. His _dedushka_ ’s beat up little car sits inside, with its own thin layer of dust.

He's lucky it starts on the second try, and once he's backing out of the driveway, he realizes he doesn’t know where he’s going or why he’s leaving. He knows there’s work to do, but he can’t shake the hollow feeling in his chest and he needs to get out. He’s never been one to run away, but as he pushes the car a little past the speed limit, he knows that’s exactly what he’s doing.

༺༻

Yuri drives around for what’s probably only a few hours, but it feels like centuries. He uses almost half the tank of gas and finally stops to eat dinner at a diner inside a gas stop, he doesn't taste the food and realizes he left his phone at the house. He orders dessert and pokes at it, not really wanting it. It's an excuse to stay out longer, the thought of going anywhere and being alone again an ugly shadow that follows him. He watches a family in the booth ahead of him and wonders if he could have been like that if his father has stuck around. If his mother hadn't abandoned him. Them.

When he pays, the waitress smiles at him and wishes him a good evening. He forces himself to smile back as he takes his change.

He goes back to the house, scooping up his phone and shoving it in his pocket, then flees like the ghosts are chasing him. At the hotel he ignores his phone as it sounds off on the bedside stand. It isn’t Otabek’s ringtone, and there isn’t anyone else he wants to talk to.

༺༻

The small market down the street from the house has enough of what he needs, including empty boxes they let him sift through. He puts the smaller cleaning supplies in the tiny trunk and stuffs the back of the car as full as he can with cardboard, thanks the manager again, and turns the car towards the house. Saturday, he had been in mourning. Yesterday, he was lost and alone. Today, he wakes up with the realization he’s only got five more days to clear the house and meet with the realtor. He can worry about Otabek, he can worry about their relationship, but he needs to do it while he’s working.

He brings everything into the house after several trips, leaving a pack of bottled water and the contents of his pockets on the kitchen counter. When he returns to the front hall, he hesitates and listens to the silence. He’s not sure what he’s hoping for, but mostly he knows he won’t hear it. His grandfather’s voice. His phone sounding off. His stereo in his room. Something that doesn’t make the past seem so large and the present feel so small.

He shakes himself out of his thoughts and heads to his old bedroom first, because he knows it will be the easiest. It doesn't take long before the room is bare besides the furniture. He'll leave the bathroom for last, just in case, but he checks the sink and tub to make sure the water still works.

His grandfather's bedroom is intimidating. He's been inside a million times, but it still feels like a hovering pressure, like everything is sacred and he needs to be gentle. He starts with the bed, putting the quilt in a bag to take with him, and strips the rest of the sheets to be donated, pushing them into a box. He takes his medal off the wall, dusts the small case off and reads the inscription on it.

Skating feels like a million years ago, as he sets the shadowbox aside on the mattress. The other pictures come down one at a time, most filled with him at different ages. Others have his mother, a woman he doesn't really know. He hesitates with those, brings them down slowly as he tries to connect with the face in the frame. 

He has her blonde hair, her eyes, her sharp structure. He wonders if he has any of her other traits. Did he get his love of skating from her? Did she love cats too? He was ten when she didn't come home, and he was so angry he had tried to erase her from himself. He wonders if he got his temper from her. His grandfather didn't carry anger like a cross, so maybe it came from his unknown father. He touches his mother's cheek in a portrait photo and wonders why she left. Maybe he is destined to be abandoned by everyone. Maybe the silence makes him nervous because it means he's alone. Maybe he fills in the gaps with his words, his anger, because he's afraid. But, right now, the silence feels welcoming, so maybe those thoughts are lies to himself.

He keeps her portrait, and throws all the others of her away.

༺༻

The hardest part is the closet and dresser. His grandfather's clothes still nearly folded and waiting. Each drawer is like a new scratch on an old wound. He puts the few pieces of jewelry in a small box, then the clothes in bags to be donated. It’s late afternoon before he finishes hauling everything downstairs and leaves the bags in the hall. He's starving, so he goes to find the car keys again and his phone.

The light flashes to indicate a pending message. He wants to ignore it, being so settled in this private space, elbow-deep in memories, but he finds himself turning it on.

Snapchat says there's a pending message from Otabek and he can't log in fast enough.

The picture waiting for him gives him nothing, Otabek hasn't put a caption on it or anything. It looks like a path through a park, lined with trees with delicate flowers. There's a fluffy blonde cat looking at the camera from a few feet away. Yuri wants to like the image, but he's suddenly filled with anger. 

How _dare_ he? This stupid picture doesn't tell him anything. Is Otabek okay? Where is this photo from? What the hell is he doing?

Yuri turns the screen off without answering. Otabek can enjoy his silence as well.

༺༻

Mila’s ringtone bursts through the room like a ray of sunshine in the middle of the night. He's thrown out of his sleep by it and curses his rinkmate to the bowels of hell as he fumbles in the darkness for it.

“Otabek says you're not answering him.” She doesn't even wait for him to speak, “Are you okay? Should I fly out?”

Yuri throws himself back into his pillows, “Otabek started it. Why should I answer when he's been ignoring me for days? He can suffer like I have.”

Mila laughs, says something to someone-- Sara, he's guessing--and sighs, “You've really got to work on your communication skills, chickadee. You can be the better man, you know. Or I can take him off your hands.”

“Fuck off, _baba_ , he's mine.” He snarls, making her laugh again. He rubs his eyes, “Fine, fine. I'll call him one more time. If he doesn't answer then he can just fuck right off.”

She clicks her tongue at him, and he pictures her shaking her head. He hears the smile in her voice when she wishes him goodnight, “And don't forget, we've got a photo shoot on Thursday. I'll be in Moscow by Wednesday morning, we should do something together.”

Mila’s family is in Moscow, he doesn’t understand why she’d want to see more of him instead of spending time with them. Especially if she brings Sara with her. Yuri scowls at the ceiling at the thought, “Good night, Mila.”

She hums at him and starts to speak again, but he’s already hitting the End Call button.

After three rings, Otabek’s phone goes to voicemail. At least the phone isn’t turned off anymore.

༺༻

In the morning, he sends Otabek a Snap of himself, laying in his hotel bed. He thinks he looks pretty good, his hair splashed out around him and his eyes heavy with sleep. He captions it _‘I miss you’_ and sends it before he can second guess himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come scream at me on [Tumblr](http://ded-i-am-just-ded.tumblr.com/)


	3. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The only future he sets is Yuri, everything else is a blank slate, and it leaves the rest of him feeling hollow._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Slips in 100 years later_
> 
> So hey, yeah. I picked this mess back up again. I really want to see this through to the end, even if it doesn't get any hits on it anymore (how quickly the fandom fell apart, man). Un-beta'd and I'm on a roll so posting this quickly and getting back to the next chapter.
> 
> I feel like this is still a set-up to where I want to take the story, now that I've had a million years to debate over it, so sorry about the pacing if it's horrible. Also, I wrote like 1/3 of it ages ago and then didn't look at it again because of my missing muse.

**TWO**

It goes like this;

He wakes from one of his dreams and realizes the doctors are right. He'll never be able to lace up professionally again. Never be able to trade _davai_ ’s with Yuri from the sidelines again, to feel that burst of adrenaline at the first perfect jump of a routine. He wakes up and finds himself at ground zero and with nowhere to go.

He calls his coach, who answers even though it's 3 in the morning and Otabek hasn't been able to practice for months. His coach handles the rest of the disaster that is the end of his skating career.

He's left empty handed and unsure of what to do next, his only bright spot is the video calls with Yuri - with his _boyfriend_. The only future he sets is Yuri, everything else is a blank slate, and it leaves the rest of him feeling hollow.

He goes to a few mandatory sessions with a therapist, but he can't articulate what he wants to say, and he doesn't know how to fix the broken parts inside himself yet, so once the requirements are filled, he stops seeing the doctor. He's never been one for talk, actions speak louder.

He gets on a plane to Switzerland and tries not to look back.

༺༻

His apartment is an echo, it makes him feel cold at his depths, even though it's turning into a typical Almaty summer and the living room is too warm. He hears the click of nails on the floor before сенімен appears from the second bedroom and yawns in his direction.

“Hello to you, too.” He murmurs and drops onto his couch, still in his jacket, his cane hitting the ground loudly, and stares at his ceiling. Quiet settles in and itches at his skin.

This is his life now.

Silence and afternoon shadows. He knows he should be finding another passion, digging into something else he loves. But there's no inspiration in the corners of his room, he can't catch the melody or feel a beat. He sucks in a breath and it's too heavy.

The late afternoon shadows and sunbeams cast pillars across his ceiling and he loses himself in them for a while. They remind him of horizon lines, of far away places and hands around his waist, dreams made real and warmth pressed into his back.

He is moving before he realizes it, picking up his helmet from his desk and his bag from where he dropped it. There's nothing to think about, as he heads for the door, but an escape.

He heads to the garage and finds his new motorcycle where he left it. It's a sleek, black and red 2018 [Thunderbird Commander](https://m.triumphmotorcycles.com/bikes/cruisers/thunderbird/2018/thunderbird/variants/thunderbird-commander) he'd fallen in love with the moment he'd seen it. He shoves his bag into one of the saddlebags and steps back to admire the bike one more time. He'd known from the time he'd taken his first step again that he needed another bike, that he'd never give up on the freedom of the open road beneath two tires.

When he mounts it, he feels calmer. When he turns it on, he smiles at the engine purr. He tries not to peel out of the garage, but it's incredibly hard with the raw power between his legs. He doesn't know where he's going, he just knows he can't be _here_.

The setting sun calls to him and he's helpless but to race it to the horizon.

༺༻

It's easier to not think when you're riding. Otabek knows it can be a dangerous game, knows its one here shouldn't be playing. But he escapes Almaty and he can't stop. The sun drops behind mountains and twilight leads to a darkness that settles in and welcomes him. There's few cars on the road, most heading towards the city, and he feels like he can finally breathe, like there's life in his veins again.

He follows the broken lines, letting them lead him into the darkness. He's flying and that's all that matters. He stops in Stepnoye to refill his tank and stares at a map he gets from the attendant inside. He decides he won't go home tonight. He's got spare clothes and so many empty days ahead of him. Seven days until Yuri arrives, plenty of hours to ride out and still return home in time.

He tucks the map away and slings himself over his bike. The tank can go 200 miles at a time, and he intends to see what's out there, 200 miles down the highway.

༺༻

He falls asleep under the stars, off the road and tucked behind some bushes. He's worn himself down enough that his leg is a dull throb and the dry grass is comfortable with his clothing bag tucked under his head as a pillow.

He only remembers his phone when it rings loudly right next to his head. The tone is annoying, like an alarm, and he realizes it's his mother. He throws himself up and digs into the bag in a frantic scramble. He misses her call and his screen is filled with notifications he's ignored. He only sees half of them in a glance before his анам is calling again.

“анам?” He winces as his voice breaks with sleep, rubs his eyes and looks around.

“Otabek! Where are you? Is everything alright? Do I need to call the doctor? Why aren't you at home? You just got home, you should be resting!”

He manages a soft laugh, which she doesn't appreciate and it sends her into a tirade over it. It gives him enough time to stand up, stretch, and take in his surroundings in daylight. The mountains seem close, without buildings holding them back, stabbing up at pure blue skies. He bends to retrieve his bag, wincing at pain in his leg, and switches shoulders to hold his phone with, “ан-" he tries to interrupt, “анам! I'm fine! I just…had to get out for a bit.”

“Are you almost home? Everyone's worried about you.”

He shoves his bag back into the saddlebag and looks around, running fingers through his mess of hair, “No, not really. I'm going to be out for a few days, I think. I'll be home in time for Yur-"

“Stupid boy, where are you, then?”

He sighs and fights to remember the sign he'd passed before he'd pulled off the road early this morning, “Taraz? I think.”

“You think?!” He can feel her disapproval through the phone, “Otabek!”

He kicks up the kickstand on the bike and carefully starts wheeling it towards the road, “It was late when I got here. I'm going to go find some breakfast and-" his phone beeps a warning at him, “a place to plug my phone in, it's going to die.”

“Okay, eat something and call me back!” She pauses, “And Yuri! Call him, too, silly child.” She mutters a short prayer under her breath that makes him smile, “I love you, child.”

“I love you, too, анам.” He gets that much in before the phone dies in his hand. He stares at the black screen for a moment, before he tucks it into his pocket and mounts the bike, heading for the brightly colored city ahead of him. He thinks Yuri would like it, would be standing on the bike behind him, trying to take a million pictures.

He makes a mental note to send him some later, when he calls him. As an apology.

༺༻

He forgets.

It happens a lot, lately. Probably part of his head injury. When he finally remembers, he's in another city, hours and an entire day from Taraz and the echo of the phone call with his mother. Yuri is going to be furious, and he scrambles to finish his lunch and turn his phone back on. There’s a mile of messages flagged on the screen, and he skims through all of the other ones before he reads all of Yuri’s. They go through stages of worry, and then they stop.

When his mother called him.

He holds the phone to his chest and looks around. He’s not really getting any reception out here, and being in a small Kazakh town, there’s not exactly free wi-fi to latch onto. He can’t call him, but he needs to let him know he’s alright. There’s a city park across the street from the small cafe he’s in, so he pays and walks briskly into it.

There’s nothing that would interest Yuri here, it’s surprisingly green, but there’s no giant tiger statues and it’s not very big. Eventually, he wanders back to the main path, defeated. Yuri will have to stay angry at him for a while longer, until he can get to a major metro and get some service, at least.

But then the cat walks into his path, sits down and looks at him. It’s a dark blonde, and enormous with fluffy fur and dark green eyes. It curls its tail around itself and yawns at him. He drags up Snapchat and crouches down to get the trees in the background and snaps the photo before the feline can grow bored and wander off again.

It’s too perfect, and he excitedly sends it off before he can think about it. It will send when the phone gets a bar of signal. He nods a thanks to the cat, who simply blinks at him and wanders on. Maybe Yuri will be okay with the photo, but he doubts it. He sets alarms on his phone to go off every few hours, to remind himself to call him later.

When he gets back to his bike, he pulls the map out and stares at the line he's drawn of his trip so far. He'll have to turn around soon, if he wants to make it back in time, but his eyes wander farther along the highway line. If he keeps going, he could go to Russia. He's got his passport, it could be that easy.

He folds up the map and turns the bike back towards the highway. He still has some time to decide, a few more miles won't hurt anyone.

༺༻

Otabek has always loved motorcycles, from the first time his father showed him one, to the day he got his license, to the moment he made that fateful turn, to everything after that. The freedom is a high in his body, takes his breath and runs. He leans into the bike and together, they move as one. Sometimes, he catches himself smiling and he laughs. He's still learning this new bike, but he's learned a lot since he left Almaty, how it pulls and handles the highways and the dirt roads.

He lets it pull him along and under its spell until it's well past nightfall and he's heading towards a skyline of lights. The wind is turning colder, warning him he should probably take a break for the night. He finds a gas station still open and buys some snacks, then goes to sit on the curb next to his bike and eat.

There's two notifications in his phone, neither of which is Yuri. One is Mila, so he opens that one first.

_Yuri says you ran away and he can't get a hold of you. Call your mini tiger, please._

It's followed by a paragraph of random emojis. Otabek sighs, then bites down on the food he's been nursing and holds it with his teeth while he replies.

_Not much signal, but he didn't answer me earlier so I figured he was busy._

He's satisfied with it and sends it without the emoji line. Like any sane person would. Then puts the phone away and finishes his late dinner.

He knows he's hit the limit, if he goes any farther, he won't make it back to Almaty in time to meet Yuri’s plane. But he's not ready to go home, not ready to face his demons yet. He rises and dusts himself off, then goes inside to ask about lodging.

He can decide in the morning.

༺༻

There's a missed call and a Snapchat notification waiting for him in the morning when he stumbles out of the hostel. Yuri's impossibly colored eyes greet him, pull him in, and his heart twists in a funny way.

_‘I miss you.’_

Otabek can't stop the tiny smile that creeps across his face. He misses Yuri, too. Every time he draws in a breath, with every fiber of his being, he wants to see him. Wants to wake up next to him, to hear his voice and his laugh, to reach out and touch him. Sometimes, he thinks he's dreaming, but that hooded, lazy look on his phone screen tells him otherwise.

He takes a selfie, nothing amazing, just him and a blurry background of the street behind him. He captions it ‘ _I miss you, too. I'll see you soon.’_

He hits the send button as he approaches his bike. When he clicks his helmet into place, he makes his decision and doesn't look back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading <3


	4. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When he finally reads Mila’s message it’s simply a long string of different smiley emojis with an occasional eggplant emoji thrown in. He doesn’t get it and sends back ‘?’ but she doesn’t reply._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on a bit of a roll and I figure if I post chapters, even if they're shorter, I'll get there faster and stay inspired longer.

** THREE **

The sky opens up just as he's pulling into the driveway, unleashing a sudden wall of rain and he says a small prayer of thanks that his _dedushka_ had a garage. Yuri feels lighter than he has in weeks, has a good feeling in his chest, probably because of the Snap reply Otabek _finally_ sent. He’d screenshot it as soon as he opened it and saved it away in his _BEKA_ folder with a stupid smile on his face. Otabek was going to be okay and that seems like the most important thing in the world.

He locks the car and makes sure the garage door is shut, then heads for the house, tugging out his phone just in time for an incoming call from Mila. A roll of the eyes and he's accepting the call and pulling it to his ear, pausing in the process to find the house key, “Hag.” he greets her in monotone.

“Yuuuri!” he winces at the pitch in her voice, “You'll never guess what happened! Remember that hockey player we met a few weeks ago? The one who kept looking at my ass?”

“Uh-huh.” No, he doesn't, but it's easier to just let her talk. He thinks she probably knows he doesn't remember but she doesn't really care and resumes talking. He lets her babble through the phone as he lets himself inside.

Something is wrong, he can tell the moment he steps into the entryway. There's a floral smell that wasn't there yesterday and the air just feels...off. He freezes, Mila a hum in his ear that fades away. There's footsteps upstairs.

His heart thunders in his chest. A break-in? He should call the police, right? He sets the bag he'd brought with down and moves slowly towards the staircase, “Mila.” he whispers urgently but she doesn't seem to hear him and keeps talking.

When he’s halfway up the stairs, avoiding the third step that squeaks, he hears the footsteps clearly, coming from his _dedushka’s_ room. And more; there's the sound of a female's voice, soft, like they're talking to themselves.

“Mila.”

This time, she hears him and asks, “What's wrong? Are you okay?”

The bedroom door opens and he's staring at the last person he'd ever expect to see, “I'll call you back.” He doesn't wait for her to reply, just lets the phone slide away from his ear and blindly hangs up, eyes never moving from the silhouette.

“Yuri?” Her voice is adrenaline in his ears, memories that spill out of an old wound. She steps into the hall and breaks the spell over him with eye's that mirror his own. He shakes his head and straightens, and she smiles, “Look at you!”

Look at him? How is she even here? He'd always assumed she was…was dead. But she comes down to meet him, rough fingers brushing his cheek, soft smile on thin, painted lips.

“Mom.” he whispers, and the heaviness settles into his shoulders again.

༺༻

She's got coffee in a carafe in the kitchen and he pours himself some to give himself something to do. She sits at the dining table and waits for him. His mind should be full; of questions, of anger, of anything, really. But there's nothing, so when he settles into a chair across from her, her doesn't say anything.

“You've done a wonderful job of cleaning.” She says softly, both hands holding her mug, leaned forward over the table, “I know this couldn't have been easy.”

He huffs, finally looks at her and just feels tired. He doesn't need to hear these things from her, he knows how hard he works. Had always worked. Without her. He simply shrugs.

“I've been following you in the news, you're turning into such a wonderful man.” She's filling the silence and that's all. Empty words in awkward air, “I'm so proud of you.”

He closes his eyes and tries not to feel anything at that. But it isn't pride that hits him, it isn't anger either. He feels lost. He can’t form the questions spiralling in his mind. Where does he even begin?

“I’m sorry,” She says softly, “For missing the funeral.”

And that finally lights a fire in him, he jerks his head up and looks at her, his expression must change because she leans back in her chair and her mouth opens into a small ‘o’. “For missing the funeral? What about missing the last 10 years of _my life_? What do you even know about me? That shit you read in articles barely scratches the surface.” He stands, leaves the coffee mug behind, “I’m amazed you even remember my name. Where did you go? Why didn’t you take me with you? Why are you even _here_ now?” He tugs angry fingers through his hair and stares at the line on the floor where the dining area switches to the kitchen.

He hears her move, but she doesn’t stand, doesn’t come near him. When he turns back to her, she’s staring at her own coffee again, worrying her lower lip, “ _Well?_ Do you have _any_ defense? Nothing you can say for yourself?”

“I’m sorry.” She says softly and her shoulders shake just enough that he notices, then she’s shaking her head and her blonde hair is flying around her, “I have nothing to defend myself with. I have no excuses. I just…” She trails off.

“You just? You just looked at me one day and said, ‘I’m done with this. I don’t want to be a mom anymore.’? You just decided to drop me off at _deda_ ’s and never come back to pick me up?” He steps backwards, his shoulder hitting the doorframe, “You just figured _deda_ could handle me for a few years and then it turned into my entire life? You were dead to me. You are dead to me.”

She finally looks at him and he hates it. Hates that he sees himself when she’s looking at him with tear-filled eyes. But she doesn’t say anything, she barely drags in a breath.

He thinks that’s worse than anything she could have told him.

༺༻

He doesn’t tell Otabek and he ignores Mila’s frantic messages. Instead, he ignores the woman in the house like the memory she should be. He has other things to worry about and she’s a curveball he didn’t see coming, but he can’t afford to be down and out about it. Instead, he finishes cleaning the bedrooms and the bathroom, loud, angry music spilling from his phone.

She’s downstairs and he doesn’t care what she’s doing, as long as she isn’t screwing up his hard work. The realtor will be by in late afternoon to take pictures and talk money, he’s wondering if he can chase her away before that when his phone goes off in his pocket again.

It’s another Snap from Otabek, and he can’t help pausing to open it. Otabek is on a mountain, it looks like, his back to a wide expanse of a valley, he’s wearing his leather jacket, his designer sunglasses and has a scarf wrapped tightly around his mouth, the only pieces of his face visible are his forehead and nose, which is bright red.

_It’s a little cold, but it’s one more day of killing time before I see you_.

Yuri rolls his eyes and takes his own selfie, holding a peace sign up next to a bored expression. He looks tired, his hair is up in a tail that’s falling apart and he’s covered in dust. He’s decidedly unattractive at the moment, he thinks, but he decides it’s good enough. Otabek accepts all sides of him and, let’s face it, this is not the least attractive he’s ever looked.

_U could come help me clean instead_

He sends it off and hides his phone away again, just as quiet footsteps move up the stairs, “Yuratchka?” He shudders at her voice and doesn’t look when she enters the bathroom, instead scrubbing harder at the bottom of the bathtub. He hears her sigh, “Yuri, I want to fix this. Please? I know I’ve been...the worst mother ever.”

_Most non-existent, you mean_. He thinks bitterly, but doesn’t say anything, turning his back to her in silent protest.

“But please, give me a chance. Just one more.”

He throws the scrubstick he’s been using down, it makes a loud noise as it bounces around the tub, but he can’t hear it as he throws himself to his feet. She takes a step back from him as he spins on her, finger raised to point accusingly at her, “Why should I? I’m an adult, you’ve missed all the crazy major milestones. What do you even want? There’s nothing left for you here! _Dedushka_ is _dead_. No one lives here anymore! I’m selling the house that he left to _me_. And if you’re looking for money, you’re shit out of luck there, too! Ice skating is not a profitable sport, so there’s nothing for you to take from me!”

Her eyes harden like stained glass, “What? I don’t want any money! I don’t want to take anything from you!” She takes a step towards him again and he backs up to match the movement, “Yuri, please. I just want...I want us to be a family again.”

He laughs. It builds in his chest and unleashes hard enough to curl him over, “Yulia,” He gasps out, he will not call her ‘ _mom_ ’ again, “There is no family anymore. There was at one time, when I was little and didn’t know any better. There was _deda_ and me and then there was just me. I don’t need you--I don’t _want_ you here. Go back to your other life and forget about the Plisetsky name. It will all end here, anyway.”

She frowns, “What do you mean?”

“You read the articles about me and you don’t know the rumors? My secret boyfriend and the outlandish lifestyle I lead?” He snarls at her, “I’m the last branch of this family tree and I’m happy to leave it that way. I’m sure you have another family by now, all picture-perfect and not a fucking accident like me. Go back to them and let me believe you’re dead. It’s better for both of us.”

Her mouth opens and closes several times before her shoulders sag. She turns without a word and walks out of the bathroom. He stills, listens to her walk down the stairs and hears the front door close.

He should feel triumphant, but he doesn’t. It doesn’t feel like he’s won anything at all.

༺༻

It’s been a really weird day.

When he finally reads Mila’s message it’s simply a long string of different smiley emojis with an occasional eggplant emoji thrown in. He doesn’t get it and sends back ‘?’ but she doesn’t reply.

The realtor is scheduled to be there at 5, so he’s killing time playing a game on his phone, sound turned up loud to kill the silence, when someone knocks on the door. It’s a bit early for her, but maybe the realtor is early. Or worse, his mother is back. He hesitates but gets up from the table and goes to the door, just as they knock again.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” He casts one last look at the screen of his phone before shoving it in his pocket and looking up just as he says, “Sorry, I wasn’t ex-” the words die on his lips as he realizes it’s not his mother or the realtor.

It’s been a really weird day and it doesn’t seem like it’s going to be over yet.


End file.
